


find me where the wild things are

by ch3nracha



Series: of monsters and men [2]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Breeding Kink, College, Come Inflation, Double Penetration, Established Relationship, Gratuitous Smut, Hyung Kink, Light Angst, M/M, Needy Bang Chan, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Shy Bang Chan, Spitroasting, Tentacle Gang Bang, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, apparently i am incapable of writing a chanlix fic where they aren’t head over heels in love, chan is a tentacle monster, chan is just a lil insecure but felix reassures him, oviposition kink, self-lubricating tentacles, tentacle bukkake, this is really soft???, tummy bulge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:46:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29581857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ch3nracha/pseuds/ch3nracha
Summary: felix nods his head, breathes, “you can touch,” steady and even to retain control, or, at the very least, appear to be. knows if he sounds out of it his hyung won’t touch him, won’t give him what he wants, what he’s been so desperate and needy for. so needy for his hyung, desperate for his touch, his — he feels it then, a tentacle. feels it curl around his ankle, warm and wet against his skin, slithering up his shin in a slimy coil. felix shivers for what’s to come.(or: felix may be in love with the monster that lives under his bed)
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Felix
Series: of monsters and men [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2118081
Comments: 24
Kudos: 203





	find me where the wild things are

**Author's Note:**

> ♡ ran a twitter poll a little over a month ago for an idea involving tentacle porn that i’ve been mulling over for awhile now, and the results voted chris as the cuddly-wuddly monster under felix’s bed
> 
> ♡ for reference, chris’s tentacles function like a ghoul’s kagune in the anime “tokyo ghoul.” although they’re extra slimy and there’s more of them here because i said so
> 
> ♡ i wanna thank @ungratefulsatisfaction for betaing my fic! 
> 
> ♡ fic title from the children’s story “where the wild things are” by maurice sendak
> 
> ♡ take a shot every time i use the word slimy or tentacle (caution: tread lightly)

felix waves goodbye to his roommates. he waits until he hears the lock latch in place and their footsteps taper off down the hall of their floor towards the elevator to drop his pants. 

he steps out of his jeans and falls backwards onto his bed, pulling his shirt off by the collar to join them on the floor, thighs spreading wide, shaky, leaning back on his palms as his shoulders come up to his ears. 

he’s sat sideways on his mattress, stripped free of the sheets and cloud topper, replaced with a plastic protective cover that crinkles every time he moves. he looks across the room, at his roommate’s digital clock to see that it’s drawing close to eight, ten til so — he’s early. early is good. 

“coast is clear, hyung.”

there’s an answering _thump, thump, thump_ from under his bed. immediate, excited — like an overeager pup repeatedly beating the floor with happy little wags of its tail. something paws at him, nips at his heel after. it’s just a touch, a gentle prod kissing his skin, light and barely there, just to let him know, to ask for his permission. 

felix gives it. nods his head, breathes, “you can touch,” steady and even to retain control, or, at the very least, appear to be. knows if he sounds out of it his hyung won’t touch him, won’t give him what he wants, what he’s been so desperate and needy for. so needy for his hyung, desperate for his touch, his — he feels it then, a tentacle. feels it curl around his ankle, warm and wet against his skin, slithering up his shin in a slimy coil. felix shivers for what’s to come. 

chris emerges from under the bed, rising up to kneel in between felix’s spread legs, his hands settling on either one, sliding them from felix’s bare knees up to his thighs, palms attaching to his skin like the rows of soft-tissue suckers suction-cupped to his calves when he grabs hold of him, pinkies teasing along the hems of his boxer briefs. 

there are six in total. tentacles that extend and retract from his lower back, sit just above his tailbone. all rough and red, transitioning from course scales into a soft, notched underbelly. they’re wet, too. they steadily secrete slime so they don’t dry out, cephalopodan physiology according to chris. whatever it is felix fucking loves it, makes the slide easier whenever a tentacle or two fucks in and out him, the taste and texture like flavored lube when he fucks his throat like a fleshlight, past his gag reflex, almost always diaphragm-deep. 

chris beams, big and bright and beautiful, dimples cratering his cheeks and joy creasing his eyes, nearly swallowed by the laughter lines set into his skin. noses at felix’s wrist, his hand, trying to get underneath it so felix pets him, gives him the attention he’s been yearning for — deprived _of_. 

“awe,” felix coos, combs his fingers through his hair and scratches behind his ear, a sensitive region that raises chris’s hackles, “did hyung miss me?”

“hyung missed you,” chris affirms, nuzzling up into the concentrated warmth of felix’s palm, the tentacles not wrapped around felix wagging behind him, “hyung missed his lixie so, _so_ much.”

it’s been a while since they’ve last seen each other — a day shy of two weeks today. living with roommates complicates things, makes it next to impossible to find any privacy in a triple occupancy dorm. even more so with the stress of finals week, which is why his roommates are gone now, out to eat at a nearby hibachi grill and bar to celebrate the end of exams, felix having declined the invite under the pretense of skyping his mom and doing laundry. 

which is true — to an extent. he’ll have to cut across the campus courtyard with his hamper after his date with chris to reach the student laundry mat before it closes, before the stains can set in. one of the few downsides to having a tentacle monster as a boyfriend, the global detergent market has yet to come out with stain removal strong enough to get monster slick out of clothes.

(he’s had to replace his sheets so many times — _too_ many times, enough times he’s on a first name basis with the returns clerk that works the customer service kiosk at a nearby walmart.)

chris whines, pushing up into felix’s hand, impatient and needy, trying to regain his attention, two tentacles winding up felix’s arms, fleshy tips tickling either side of his neck, a third encircling his waist. chris’s grip — both his hands and the tentacles — grip tighter, _squeeze_ , hugging his limbs and torso in slimy coiled springs. 

he’s going to be covered in sucker marks, skin red and raised in cyclical grooves that’ll bruise a lovely, sensitive purple over the weekend. god is he ready. 

“my poor, needy pup,” felix soothes, two fingers under chris’s jaw to tilt his chin up, his eyes wide and anticipatory, obediently waiting for felix’s command, “begging for attention when i trained you better than that —” felix offering up hushed little sh sh sh’s when he whimpers, raw and pretty and strained, “don’t whine baby, it’s okay. after all — lixie really missed you too.”

chris goes shy, asks a hopeful, “really?” as he looks down and away, chin still propped up, warmth bleeding into his cheeks and spreading up to his ears. the tentacles cradling felix loosen. just a little. just enough for felix to miss it. 

felix leans in, letting chris’s jaw go to cradle it instead, between both palms, the heels of his hands coming together. he sweeps his thumbs over chris’s face, just under his eyes, from the bridge of his nose back towards his ears to iron out the worry lines, “really.” 

the smile felix gets in return has his heart ballooning in his chest, expanding out and out, pushing up against the rounded walls of his rib cage. can see the love and warmth reflected when he looks into chris’s adoring gaze, like he’s staring into a fisheye lens, wide and hemispheric. 

a fifth tentacle crawls up felix’s back, pulsing between his shoulder blades as slime drips down the notched rungs of his spine, slow and gooey, pooling in and around the waistband of his underwear. it curls around his neck to reel him in, bridging the gap between their lips while the sixth and final one creeps between his legs — where felix wants it. 

the kiss is heated, messy — devolves into downright fucking filthy, barely separating to breathe before drawing back together, tongue first, the skin around their mouths sticky, glistening with spit and slick and flavored chapstick. 

it’s always like this — quick, to the point, on a time constraint whenever they’re able to find a moment alone. they’re on one now, like every other secret little date they have in the dorms. 

felix side eyes the clock again. estimates they have roughly forty, maybe forty-five minutes before his roommates return, tanked on soju and hot sake, and chris has to go back under the bed, disappearing into whatever lovecraftian realm he came from, where he’ll remain until felix conjures him again, reappearing to him just as needy and clingy and horny as before. 

not that felix can fault him for it, not when he’s just as needy and clingy and horny, if not more. his horniness magnified by however long he doesn’t get to see chris, going days, sometimes weeks, without getting dicked down by his boyfriend and his big, slimy tentacles. 

the same time chris slips his tongue in, he slips a tentacle into the unbuttoned fly of felix’s underwear to wrap around him, _finally_ , alleviating the ache — just a little, swallowing felix’s impatient, breathy, moans, the suckers lining his tentacle mouthing all over his blistering hot skin, kissing up the veins running the length of his pretty little cock. 

felix’s eyes roll into the back of his head. 

chris pulls back, just enough to purr, “hyung really missed _this_. missed hearing the pretty little sounds hyung’s pretty little lixie makes,” into the warm, wet cave of felix’s panting mouth. 

he punctuates his words by giving felix’s slime-lubed cock one — two good _yanks_ , squeezing the weepy crown of it on the next upstroke, the tip of his tentacle licking into felix’s sensitive slit, tasting the well of bittersweet precum leaking out, like sugarless lemonade — chris’s favorite flavor. 

“h-hyuu— _nnngh_ ,” felix whimpers, hands falling away from chris’s face to cling to his shoulders instead, fingers curling into his shirt, to keep himself upright, already feeling so shaky and spent, nails biting eight, crescent lines through the cotton tee and into the soft meat of chris’s easy-to-bruise skin, “ _puh-please_.”

the lewd little scrunch of felix’s sweaty, red face and the whiny little _ah ah ah’s_ chris milks out of him boosts his confidence, quickening his pace to jack him off faster, sliding up around his swollen head to twist and squeeze. 

“please what?” chris goads, a teasing glimmer in his eyes. the noise felix makes is pitiful. 

the tentacle lazily pumping felix unwinds — slithers down and around to fondle his balls, sensitive under the slight pressure chris applies and felix’s cock drools, wet and glossy, oozing a steady stream onto his belly, canaling between the soft definition of abdominal muscle like a seminal irrigation system that gathers and drains into the puckered mouth of his navel. 

then it stops. the tentacles just — stay there. they don’t _move_. the one between his legs does but — it _retreats_ , pulls away and away, smearing slime and precum across his briefs and felix sobs, mourning the loss of contact. 

“please. what?” chris reiterates, slow and careful, enunciating each word, dividing them into their own individual sentences like felix didn’t understand, like he didn’t hear him before, “use your words little one.”

frustrated tears spring to felix’s eyes, salt burning his waterlines. he tries to find the words chris is looking for, lost among the tangle of thoughts and arousal clouding his mind, painfully aware chris will sit there and _wait_ , wait for felix to reply, to beg for chris to touch him. 

and felix wants to argue, to rile chris up enough to do something about it — make him get involved with more than just his tentacles, make him _mean_ , but that would take too long and they have too little time and felix is already so teary-eyed and needy just from _this_ , so — so.

“duh-don’t be like tha’ hyung,” felix sniffs, wet and snotty, hiccuping through his stuttery speech, “really want you to fuck me, hyung, please, just — please fuck me, please fuck your lixie.” 

chris kisses him, incredibly soft and sweet, says into the pretty, plush cushion of his lips, “anything for my baby.” 

the tentacle around felix’s stomach unravels, leaving crisscrossing trails of slime behind, slithering up to his chest, pushing at his pectoral, guiding him to lie down on his back, legs bent at the knees, the soles of his feet flat against the bed, the suckers lining the smooth, slimy underbelly of chris’s tentacle nipping at his sensitive nipples. a hot tear tracks down felix’s face. 

through the tears kissing felix’s eyes, a film of brine crusting to his cheeks, he watches one of chris’s tentacles snake across the floor and up his dresser (the cleanup after is going to suck), to wrap around the squishmallows he has lining the tabletop. a cherry, a jellyfish, an ice cream cone, and — an _octopus_ (see: irony), turning them around so their cute, felt faces are no longer observing them, “don’t want any prying eyes, only hyung gets to see you, only for me to see.”

felix spears his lower lip between his teeth, nearly bites through it with how hard he’s clamping down, closing his eyes so he doesn’t see what the tentacles do next, likes the surprise. so he gasps, a tearful, “ _ohhh_ ,” that deflates his heaving chest when he feels the tip of one tentacle circle his rim and the two around his calves yank his underwear down and off, getting right to it — which is good, which is what he needs.

it’s slow to push in and felix moans as he settles into it, letting the tentacle fuck in and out of him just an inch or two, just enough for him to handle, drooling thick globs of slick all over his wet, fluttery hole, dripping slow and thick between his trembling thighs, onto the protective mattress cover below, opening up for chris with ease as the tentacle stretches him, little by little.

“always so wet and pretty for hyung, hm?”

“wuh-wet and pri-pretty for hyung,” felix parrots, rewarded with chris’s tentacle moving, inching in just a little deeper. the breath felix draws in is sharp, uneven, even though he’s used to it. even though he wants it.

and as desperate as he was — _is_ — for release, chris doesn’t fuck him any deeper than that, letting felix readjust to the slimy girth of his tentacle wiggling around inside of him, stretching him loose. a new wave of tears crashes over him, pulling him out toward the tide to drown in a sea of frustration. 

“ _hyung,_ ” felix sobs, tired of the teasing — because that’s what this is, teasing. because chris knows felix can take, will take, anything chris gives him, giving him _this_ is just mean, edging on cruel. “hyung, please,” he keens, making grabby hands toward his impassive boyfriend, “ _please._ wan’ more, hyung’s lixie needs more.”

then: the tentacle gently fucking into him pushes all the way in, skewering him, just shy of scraping his pelvic bone it’s _that_ deep, stuffing him full and stretching him wide wide wide. felix’s brain sizzles like an egg cracked onto a frying pan, like those poorly produced ‘ _your brain on drugs_ ’ psa’s from the 70s. 

the tentacle pulls out, all the way to the tip, before it drives forward — _hard_ , aimed directly at his prostate. it knocks the wind out of him, his back pushing two, three inches up the bed, the sweat and slime and plastic sheets aiding in the up and down slide. 

felix’s arms come up over his head, forearms flat, holding onto the mattress edge, his fingers digging into the bulk of it in an effort to anchor his body, the muscles in his stomach contracting, winding tighter and tighter, his orgasm building too quick.

chris’s hand creeps up his thigh, palm side down, comparatively soft to the brutal in and out of his tentacle, “like when i fuck you like this, baby? like being stuffed so full of tentacles you can’t catch your breath? until you’re all sloppy and loose? like knowing you’re the only one i’ll ever do this to?”

despite the dirty talk, monogamously sweet yet downright filthy to feed felix’s kinks, chris is a merciful tentacle monster. he doesn’t expect felix to answer, not when the tentacle inside of him fucks him deeper and deeper with each thrust — impossibly so. felix sobs, wet and snotty, feeling his hole stretch around it to allow it further in even though it hurts, a dull ache developing in his ass, an ache that runs up his back. 

over the sound of the tentacle fucking him raw, of the dirty, wet squelch echoing off the four walls of felix’s dorm, of his own winded pants and moans, felix hears chris hum appreciatively, the groan of the carpeted floor under him as he shifts his weight, rising to his knees so he’s no longer sitting back on his calves and heels, “look at that.”

felix pries his eyelids open, crusted over in salt, the vein in chris’s neck prominent beneath his fair skin. felix wants to bite. chris withdraws the tentacle out to the rim, circling it, the suckers pulling at it from the inside, before it darts back in and slams into his pelvis. 

chris whispers, “i said _look_ ,” in a low, breathy growl, nipping at felix’s shaky thigh, his gaze drawn to where chris is staring. it’s his stomach, the tentacle in him fucking him so wide and full and deep it’s bulging, his abdomen swollen with it, looking ready to burst. fuck — it’s a sight, familiar but hot all the same. 

“such a good boy for hyung, hm? letting him fuck you like that. d’you like when hyung fucks you like that? when hyung lays his eggs in your pretty little belly? barefoot and pregnant with my babies?”

it’s all felix needs to cum. he cums so hard it splashes up his chest and catches the underside of his slack jaw, warm and sticky and adding to the grime. he moans chris’s name, dick twitching when the tentacle pulls out to grab his cock again, milking every last ounce of cum from him.

the tentacles loosen all at once, but only a little, still keeping them snug enough to cuddle felix in a slimy, coiled nest of them like he likes. chris kisses a line up his ribs, asks into his armpit, “didya feel good, baby?”

felix hums lazily in response, entirely limp in chris’s hold, using the little strength he has to return the kisses to each of the suckers he can reach lining a tentacle curled by his head, his hands tracing diamonds around the course scales of another one lying across him. 

“do you want me to go?”

felix’s head flops over to his other cheek, refocusing his orgasm-hazy eyes to check the clock. not much time has passed, seven — going on eight minutes now, surprising him just as much as it doesn’t. time always drags when he’s desperate to cum but chris always fucks him so full and wide and chris’s tentacles are so _big_ felix never lasts long. 

it’s a chore — talking, but felix manages to breathe a winded little exhale of, “nu-uh. not done yet. dunno when i’ll get to see you next. want it — more. want _more_.”

there’s an edge of concern in chris’s face. he’s a monster but — a thoughtful one. felix vaguely remembers when his mother used to tuck him in at night and turn on his bedside nightlight, telling him not to be afraid of the monsters under his bed, but he doubts she imagined not being afraid of them would lead to _this_.

“you sure you can handle it little one? don’t want to hurt you. not ever.” 

now: here’s the thing — he’s done it before, been fucked by more than one tentacle at the same time. his record is three. felix couldn’t sit right for a week. and he knows he can take it, chris does too yet he’s still hesitant, still tentative to squeeze a second tentacle in next to the first every time felix begs him for it but, the thing about chris is— he always gives in, unable to deny felix anything. 

so a tentacle slips back in him, easily reaching inside up to his belly with how loose and stretched he is, then — a second one wiggles in with the first, just an inch, if that, and felix cries _“hyung, hyung, hyung,”_ into the humid air around him, barely in but already consuming him with the stretch. the _burn_. 

gifted with a short refractory period, it takes just three, four minutes for felix to chub up again, probably a result of his sexually-repressed catholic upbringing, which is beneficial in moments like these when felix wants to be gang banged by his boyfriend’s big, slimy tentacles. 

he’s momentarily lifted off the bed, long enough for the other four tentacles to carefully turn him over until he’s belly down, until his solar plexus and side profile are pressed into the sheet tarped over his mattress, propped up on his knees with his ass presented to chris.

the second tentacle wiggles in deep, just as deep as the other one, chris running his palm down felix’s back, from tailbone to neck, kissing the stray freckles scattered across his back, whispering advice like: _“relax a little more for hyung”_ or _“breathe through your nose, 1…2… good job baby”_ and praises like: _“that’s it, hyung’s good boy”_ or _“pretty baby. always take hyung’s tentacles so well.”_

two tentacles wind their way around felix’s thighs, holding his legs open, the tip of one sliding between them, rubbing over his perineum, drooling slick down to his knees, pooling in the creased folds of the plastic underneath him. 

and chris is gentle. his tentacles start off slow, a steady in and out so felix’s hole dilates, stretching wide to accommodate both of them. the tentacles shallow their thrusts to avoid felix’s prostrate, to avoid overwhelming him. maybe it’s his babbling or the ringing in his ears, but the dirty squelch of the tentacles penetrating him have quieted, just a little. or — maybe he’s just that loose and wet, neutralizing any resounding slaps of tentacle on skin.

“ _hyuuungie_ ,” felix slurs, voice rounding out the rough edges of his words, “muh-ore. give me more. can’ take more hyung. need it, lixie needs it,” he begs, vocabulary deteriorating into nothing but wanton _more more more’s_ and _please please please’s._

then — chris stops being gentle about it, tentacles withdrawing out to his rim before driving in hard, fucking into him ruthlessly and so, _so_ deep. able to feel them lance through his stomach from the inside, felix cries fat, hot, snotty tears that wobble off his chin and splatter the plastic cover beneath his smushed cheek, his cock trapped between his thighs and the bulge of chris’s tentacles, crying against his belly. 

felix twitches, switching between fucked out little pants of chris’s name and “ _hyung”_ over and over, ignoring chris’s hush of, “you have to be quiet, baby. don’t want to get a noise complaint, do you?” as chris leans over him to breathe it into the husk of felix’s ear, dwarfing felix below him with his broad shoulders and muscular arms. 

“you’re being awfully loud lixie. your pretty little mouth is gonna get you in trouble — _again_. looks like hyung will have to take care of it as usual,” chris purrs, biting into the meat of felix’s earlobe, pulling it back with his teeth then letting go, licking the red dental imprint after. felix spasms.

right as felix gasps a third tentacle creeps over his back, curling under his chest and around his neck, and then directly into his mouth. he moans around the slimy appendage gagging him into near silence, stifling his breathy pants and whines and sharp inhales and shuttery exhales. felix clamps down, lips molding around the girth to suck on it — a distraction, something to focus on.

distracts him from the third tentacle, surprising a moan out of him when it circles his rim, so raw and red, it quivers under the sucker that kisses at it. he squeezes the tentacle in with the others, just an inch or two, one of the other tendrils passing over his prostate again, and then again and again and again with each rough thrust, going deeper each time. 

felix’s face pinches together, eyes closing tight and jaw falling slack, trying not to crumble under the three tentacles in his ass and the fourth stuffed down his throat, skewering him like a pig on a spit roast, a fire licking at his belly, spreading wider, growing hotter, incernating him from the inside out.

it’s almost violent how hard he cums the second time around — the edging and abuse of his stretched hole leaving him sated, coming up the bed, between the protective cover and his stomach. he shakes with the force of it, the tentacle in his mouth disappearing to curl around his cock instead, milking him until he’s dry and sore.

his legs give out, held up by the two tentacles coiled around his thighs, all shaky and spent, trying to catch his breath, twitching uncontrollably, having just as much authority over his autonomy as an npc in a video game.

but the tentacles don’t stop. 

“want hyung to cum in you? want hyung to fill you up? breed you like the good boy you are? make your pretty little belly a nest for my eggs?”

felix doesn’t think before he’s nodding with a tearless sob, all cried out and desperate for it, slumping against the bed before he feels, through the aftershocks, all three of the tentacles inside of him cumming, too, piping him full, creaming out the sides. felix loves how dirty it feels dripping down between his legs, thick and slimy. 

he can feel chris’s cum filling him, an endless amount, it seems — he keeps panting, trembling, opening his eyes wide enough to look down at himself. from here, he can see his stomach is distended just slightly — just enough to know, and he moans again, winded and boneless. fuck, that’s always so hot, seeing his belly pregnant with cum, like he really is carrying chris babies — their babies. if only, felix thinks, a little sad. he doesn’t dwell.

the other tentacles, the two around his thighs that aren’t pumping him full of cum, cum all over him, dousing him in sticky, seminal monster fluid. his puffy, loose hole weeping with it as soon as chris retracts his tentacles, gentle to do so, disappearing into his back. 

felix pouts and, when chris asks him what’s wrong, he complains, “wanted to fit more than three this time,” whiny, grumbly.

chris laughs, noses at felix’s sweaty shoulder, scenting him like a big dumb puppy with big, slimy tentacles, “maybe next time, little one. now, why don’t we clean you up, and i’ll tuck you in, hm? you can do laundry in the morning. if you can _move_ in the morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> felix can’t move in the morning.
> 
> [♡ tw: @ch3nracha](https://twitter.com/ch3nracha)   
> [♡ cc: @ch3nracha](https://curiouscat.me/ch3nracha)


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